Semtruv gave a shallow bow. “Dear Lady, we have a wager between us and would ask your indulgence in settling the matter.”
Confused, Eleanor nodded and waited for her to continue.
“My valued friend is, as you know, aide to Lord Fnamir. They wonder if you are a spy sent from your people to discover our weaknesses and, if captured, you might have some small value to us.
“On the other hand, I speculate that you have no power to negotiate and our dealings with you waste time we may more profitably spend elsewhere.”
The threat hung, a dark cloud before her vision. With great effort Eleanor kept her voice calm, relaxed.
“And his lordship, Shivuk? What is his speculation in all of this?”
Shivuk faced the moon, back toward her and did not bother to face her as he spoke. His words cut all the same.
“I do not wager with you. My father plays this game because it amuses him. You have no importance.”
“If you take yourself out of the competition, I shall have to judge between the first two players. My thanks for easing my burden, your lordship.”
She faced the others and wished she could remove the heir’s angry words from her mind as easily as she could his form from her vision.
“If I were a spy, I must be the most inept one in either of our histories. I have remained in one place, as your own informants must have told you. I have failed to discover any of your military secrets and only learned protocol and history. If, indeed, I was sent here, my masters would be less than pleased if all I could smuggle out were the secrets of the depth of the bows for the greetings and leave-takings.”
The aide nodded and signed acknowledgment. Not agreement, but a start.
“As for my value. It is quite simply what you make of me. My people did not listen to your messengers before, therefore you must find a way to make them listen. Unless,” she paused for breath, “you are resigned to eradicate all comers to this system, endlessly watching, forever losing your resources and people to one battle after another. A sorry fate for any people, above all one that can create such beauty as yours.” She gestured at the garden, then back toward the hall. “Simply because you can destroy at will does not mean destruction is always the best answer.”
For a long moment no one moved or spoke, then Semtruv bowed, a shade lower than protocol demanded. “You play well.”
The threesome drifted away and she relaxed, just a hair, as Bunyir approached her through the crowd. Before he could reach her, the Lord of the Prichane intercepted him.
“Bunyir. Come look over this flower with me. I know we both grow night-blooming makfi, but I swear Kalal has done something different with his soil. I know mine has never grown to such heights; come tell me if you can discover what he’s done.”
Bunyir glanced at Eleanor before he walked off, with a flick of resignation. She felt more than resigned. Tired of the evening, Eleanor wanted nothing more than to be safely in her quarters, even to have Mikka exasperated with her for some unimaginable error.
Lost in her thoughts, she was slow to notice Kalal at her side.
He held a pair of diminutive crystal goblets filled with dark red liquid, presumably brought by the page in red and black standing behind him.
“I said, my dear, you look a tad fatigued. I shall not keep you a whit longer. Let us drink the farewell cup and I look forward to our next meeting.”
She took the proffered goblet and sniffed the contents. The liquid smelled like the spiced wine her father served on special days. She raised the glass to her lips and mimed a small sip.
“Far too strong for me my lord,” and she placed the untouched drink back on the tray.
“A pity. It is one of our delights.” The black and red paint flickered in the torchlight. “I am sure we will meet again soon. Farewell.”
She bowed deeply to Kalal. “I am honored at your attention, your Lordship.”
Another courtier appeared as the first followed in Kalal’s wake.
“Lady Semtruv would speak with you again. Will you follow me?”
Wondering at the summons, she could think of no excuse to avoid further confrontation. “Yes, of course.”
She followed the page through a hedge of fragrant wood to a long, narrow glass structure.
“Lady Semtruv awaits you inside.” The courtier bowed and stepped aside.
Eleanor entered the close, dank building. Rows of high benches, each filled with trays of delicate plants, blocked her vision.
“Lady Semtruv? Where are you?”
A rustle to her right made her pause. “Hello?” Nothing. Eleanor followed the sound, ducking out of the way of low-hanging vines. She swallowed, throat suddenly tight. “Is anyone here?”
She stumbled over something in the dark, and caught herself on the edge of a rough table, scraping her hands. I should go find Bunyir. I should leave, right now. She grabbed the trailing hem of her robe and gathered it in one sweating fist, feeling her way with the other hand as she retraced her steps to the doorway.
Another rustle, this time from her left, and closer now. Eleanor spun toward the sound, but a flare of light blinded her and left her stretched out on the ground.
Chapter Fifteen
Adam stood in line, his jumpbag light in his hand. He focused on the thick dark braid of the woman in front of him. Her one allowed bundle of possessions, a parcel of colored fabric, made the only bright spot on a grey day. The crowd of people stretched on before and behind him, jostling and cursing. Behind the row of Guards lining either side of the draftees, he could hear families call out, searching, and hoping for one last glimpse of a loved one. He shook his head.
Jake had refused to take part in this madness and had decided the night before they would say their goodbyes at the house. No official announcement had been made declaring the enemy they mustered against, spawning endless speculation. Jake had figured his time would be better spent on the unregistered comm unit, searching for more information. Crammed into the mass of bodies, unable to do little more than shuffle forward, Adam understood and envied him. At least he hadn’t left a family behind.
The man behind him stumbled, crushed into him, forcing him into the tall woman in front of him. He struggled for his balance.
“Sorry about that.”
She smiled over her shoulder at him. “I don’t think it’s entirely your fault.” She rolled her eyes at the chaos around them. “Besides, it was only a bump. If half of what everyone is saying is true, we’re all in for a lot worse.”
She stuck her free hand back towards him. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Chan.”
Adam reached forward, shook the offered hand. “Glad to meet you. What did you do before?”
“Worked on my parents’ farm researching new types of breeding stock. Would have been happy to keep working there, but SecDept came through our sector, swept up everyone. Bastards.”
Her head lowered.
“Mom and Dad should be all right. They ran the place alone before I came along, they’ll manage. What were you?” She glanced back again. “Something unhealthy, from the look of you. You don’t look well, you know.”
Adam grimaced. “Yeah, I’m sure. Actually, I’m one of those bastards.”
Her head tilted to the side, curious.
“I was a Guard. But I quit, bought my contract.”
She gasped. “How did you pull that off? A boy from our village joined up and my father said that once SecDept had him, he’d be theirs for life.”
Adam laughed. “A fluke of luck, or so I figured. Probably the dumbest decision I’ve ever made.” He sobered again. “Still worth it.”
Rebecca shook her head, causing the braid to sway. “I thought Guards, even retired Guards, were exempt from the draft.”
They shuffled a small dist
ance further in the line, and handed over their personal possessions to a bored looking soldier who exchanged them for a plasti-wrapped bundled before Adam answered. “I heard that too. I don’t know. Everything seems to be rumor.”
But he examined the faces of the Guards as he and Rebecca advanced towards the ships. He recognized men and women from his unit, nodded, received blind stares and smirks in return. He had left their company, transformed into just another civilian, all ties broken.
Adam’s section of line progressed to the launching pads, up the gangway, into the gaping belly of the squat dull grey ships. A burly shipman counted off each group of new recruits and guided them away. Adam’s group traveled through a tangle of passageways and then the shipman opened a large metal hatchway and motioned for them all to enter.
“Move, move, back to the back!” He counted them off, still shouting, made sure none had wandered away.
“Someone will be by later. Get settled, be quiet.”
And he shut the door with a clang.
Adam and the others were in a cavernous room with row upon row of bunk beds. Other doors led off the room midway down the length of the sleeping area. The red domes of security cameras staggered across the ceiling and Adam glanced away.
People drifted through the room, selected bunks, put their bundles down.
Adam selected a bunk to the far rear of the room and stowed his bag. The sound of a scuffle over who would sleep on the top bunk reached Adam’s ears, but he closed his eyes and lay down. Not his problem.
“Hey.”
Rebecca stood over him. The corners of her eyes crinkled. Green. He hadn’t noticed before they were so green.
“Mind if I take the bunk over you? Not that we know each other, but I don’t know anyone else in here, either. Have to start somewhere, and sounds like it may be a long trip.”
Adam grinned back at her. “Glad to have you, neighbor.”
As she climbed up he did a quick count of the bunks, far easier than the milling people.
Two hundred. There were two hundred bunks, so it seemed probable there would be the same number of people. Adam hoped the short Guard had counted right. He didn’t want to know what would happen if there were more people than places to sleep.
Another group of recruits arrived at the end of the line and Adam stiffened as he saw Doug, the Weber girl’s boyfriend. Not someone he wanted to deal with. But he knew what his grandfather would say he had to do.
He stepped forward, hand outstretched, jaw tight. “Look. Since we’re both stuck here, do you think we could-”
Doug scowled at him, “I thought I recognized you earlier.” He stalked away.
Adam shook his head and stepped back into line, dropped his hand to his side.
“What a jerk.” Rebecca hissed.
“Eh, long story and not worth getting into. We’re off to war, I can’t be too worried about one guy right now, right?”
The door hissed open, but instead of their burly guide, a wiry, older man with stooped shoulders entered. The steel-framed glasses he wore grabbed Adam’s attention. Adam didn’t think he’d seen anyone wear corrective lenses into adulthood; those sorts of problems were too easy to fix.
Adam understood the thin man’s curious affectation when he strode to the bunk nearest the hatch and looked at the two nervous boys who stood by the bottom bed. The left lens of the glasses flared flickering silver and he tapped a thin rod in his hand against the floor.
“White, James.” The thin man shifted his attention to the other, the flicker began again. “Pierce, Todd.”
Both boys nodded, surprise clear on their faces.
“You will answer me out loud.” Adam strained to hear the thin man’s quiet voice. “You will answer ‘Yes, DS Moore.’ On very, very rare occasions you might answer ‘No, DS Moore.’ But I wouldn’t recommend it. Am I clear?”
The boys’ eyes flickered toward each other, then stared straight ahead. “Yes, DS Moore!”
A portable screen generator with a link. The glasses connected into a database of bio info on all the recruits. Even as he dreaded his own encounter with the threatening man, Adam’s fingers itched to play with the tech.
Moore had covered over half the room by the time he arrived at Adam and Rebecca’s berth. They had learned from watching his chastisements of the others and stood straight, eyes forward, faces carefully neutral.
“Chan, Rebecca.”
“Yes, DS Moore!”
Moore turned to Adam. Waited.
“Cole, Adam.”
“Yes, DS Moore!”
Moore didn’t move on. “Cole. Says here you’re related to Jake Cole. That so?”
Adam took a breath. “Yes, DS Moore.”
“Rebel bastard.”
Moore continued on. Behind him, Adam reddened.
Over an hour later Moore stood by the door again and faced the room. “Bet by now you’d like to move about some, wouldn’t you? Lucky, because it’s PT time. Follow the lighted corridors, don’t get lost. I’ll be behind you, so I’d suggest you don’t go slow.”
He barked out names and the recruits filed out of the room.
“Move it,” he snapped. “Run, you little weasels!”
“Move, move, move,” Moore chanted, until the entire group took up the cry as they jogged out of the room, down the halls and away.
After the first run, DS Moore reviewed all personal possessions. Chronos and commlinks were confiscated. Rebecca, farmer’s daughter to the core, maintained her conviction that the periods of light and dark that marked the days of the trip were uneven. Few slept well or regularly. The gravity failed and returned with little warning. Runs through the labyrinthine lower corridors filled endless hours.
No one pleased Moore. The lucky ones were blissfully ignored by him. Moore gave particular attention to Adam. The wrinkles in his bunk covers, the skew of his uniform, the gleam of his rifle. Sniggers and smirks outnumbered the few pitying looks.
The recruits learned to watch what they said. A girl at the other end of the hall spoke against Internal Security, wondered if there really was some invasion coming. Other than a muffled noise in the night, her bunkmate didn’t see her again. The hall bulged with speculation every night.
The days of running wore on Adam’s tortured lungs; at night he coughed wetly into the thin pillow. When he collapsed near the end of one of the drills, it came as no surprise. Adam attempted to stand, failed, and stumbled as unseen hands lifted him to his feet.
Doug stood behind him.
Adam had managed to avoid the younger boy for most of the exercises and leaned away from him now, wary.
“Thanks.” He wiped the last of the bloody foam away with the back of his hand. “I appreciate it. Truce?”
Doug laughed. “You’re kidding, right?” He shook his head. “I’m making sure you don’t get out of here on some medical excuse.” He jogged down the metal hall. “Want to make sure you don’t die too soon, that’s all.”
The new soldiers traded whispers in the dark, speculating. Ship to ship fighting shouldn’t need soldiers trained for fighting on the ground, soldiers with hand weapons. Eradicating pirates wouldn’t take a draft of all three colonies and Claro itself.
Different theories about the nature of the attackers of the trade ships were proposed, discussed, discarded. Perhaps another human colony ship had arrived, infiltrating their solar system. Maybe another civil war had begun, with ships built by renegade scientists on unofficially inhabited colony moons. Or invaders from another system. No attackers at all, stories the merchants had put about for reasons of their own. The stories grew wilder every night.
Adam lost track of how long the conscripts from Travbon had been on the barracks ship. Rebecca shook her head when he asked, told him it no longer matte
red.
The speaker once again crackled. Recruits spilled out of bunks, stood at attention by their beds, ready to hold fast or salute or run or whatever DS Moore required of them.
“Landfall, one hour. Prepare.”
Landfall. Maybe there he would find some answers.
Chapter Sixteen
Eleanor rested on a thin pad that covered a section of hard, rough floor. Waves of nausea accompanied every move. She stayed still and waited for the sensation to fade.
Hours passed and the sickness grew worse. Her yells for help went unanswered and hurt her head, so she stopped. On hands and knees she shuffled into a wall then crawled along the length of the wall, counting each lurch forward, estimating how far she traveled.
In the blackness she had no way to measure how long the process took. At the end she laid sweating and shaking on the pad and figured the size of her cell in her head. About three meters square, a little less. More disturbing, she had crawled around the entire perimeter and found no opening, no door, no crack.
The few things she had discovered indicated her captor meant to keep her for some time. In one corner she found a flat plate, with what felt and smelled like dense bread on it and a pitcher of what could be water. She couldn’t bring herself to taste either. In the opposite corner she had found a bucket.
As she lay on her mat, she tried to ignore the pain and sickness and puzzle through what had happened to her. Had there been some poison at the dinner which Rhiej had not warned her about? Could he be an enemy after all? Or had she been given something as she lay unconscious? She ran her hands over her arms and legs and winced as she found an oozing lump low on her shin. In the dark, she couldn’t tell if the bump marked an injection site, but the flare of pain when she brushed her fingers around the area raised her suspicions.
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